


Off Limits

by DarlaBlack



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Family, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 15:01:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15099215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarlaBlack/pseuds/DarlaBlack
Summary: Set in 2003 in an AU where Season 9 never happened. Mulder and Scully make a bet. Fluff and smut ensue.





	Off Limits

“Mulder, it took us six years to get to first base. I think I could hold out for a week.”

He was chewing on the end of a straw, his feet propped up on the coffee table in front of him. “You think so?”

William was asleep on the floor, surrounded by crayons and ripped paper. Scully scooped him up carefully. “Yeah. I do,” she said, hushed, over the toddler’s head. She straightened his shirt and tucked him against her before heading toward his bedroom.

Mulder hopped up from the couch to follow her in his socked feet, speaking more softly now too. “No kissing either.”

She looked at him, surprised, over her shoulder as she entered the small room. She was careful not to step on the toys scattered across the floor. “No kissing? Well, that’s a little harsh, isn’t it?” There was a distinct pout on her face at the thought. She gently laid William down in his bed and covered him with a blanket before following Mulder out of the room and shutting the door behind her.

“Kissing leads to naughty things, Scully.” He ran a finger from the edge of her t-shirt down her bare arm. She tried not to respond, but the goosebumps were involuntary.

“Starting when?”

He looked at his watch. “It’s 2:24, so let’s say starting at 2:30, until the same time next Saturday.”

“Six minutes,” she said. “That doesn’t give us much time.”

“For wha—“ but he broke off, realization dawning.

She was trying very hard to hold back a smile as she dove for his mouth. She crushed her lips and her body against his, fingers slipping into his hair as she rubbed her full length against him. His hands came up to her hips and he was already hardening against her abdomen when her tongue slipped along his, eliciting a low groan. His hands moved under her shirt and smoothed along her back. She lifted her right knee to his hip, leaning even further in, and he fell back against the hallway wall with a thump.

“Careful,” she murmured, running her own hands under his cotton tee and then leaning up for another wet kiss. He hoisted her against him with one hand in her hair, the other gripping the soft denim over her ass. They were making out like horny teenagers while their two-year-old son slept not fifteen feet away. They rocked and groped and petted and thrust against the hallway wainscoting.

And then Scully pulled back suddenly to look at her watch. “Time’s up,” she said, an amused, if somewhat disappointed smile forming on her face. “We’ll finish this next week?”

Mulder groaned, and his head fell back against the wall. “Seriously? You are a cruel, cruel woman.”

“Mulder, it was your idea. You’re the one who suggested that there were… limitations to my self-control. But look.” She held up her hands, face flushed and feet bare on this absolutely perfect day for slow, sweet afternoon naked-snuggling. “See how much control I have?”

He leaned toward her and reached his arms out. “Let me see just how much control you have,” he said, voice all gravel and thwarted sex. But she backed away.

“Nah ah, you said no touching.”

He chewed his bottom lip. “Perhaps we should set the ground rules. Some touching is inevitable, I think.”

She nodded. “True. No under-clothes touching.”

“Does that mean I have to sleep with clothes on?”

She was frowning, realizing the same thing. “No under-clothes touching with intent.”

“Intent to what?” He asked, waggling his eyebrows. She gave him a look.

“Are forehead kisses okay?”

“Scully, I know your forehead kisses. They have intent.”

The pout was back in full. “Mulder, this game sucks.”

“Well, we could decide not to play. But then, you know… I’d be proven right.”

She sighed, never one to let that happen. “No, let’s play. Holding hands has to be okay, though. And short hugs. Non-sexy hugs.”

He conceded with a nod. “Shake on it?” He held out his hand.

“Wait, what do I get if I win?”

“What do you want?”

She thought for a minute, looked around the room. “I don’t want to change another diaper for the rest of this month.”

Mulder looked at her, trying to see if she were serious. “Really? That’s it?”

“Mulder, I spend my days up to my elbows in viscera and blood. I don’t want to come home and touch a single other thing that has come out of a human body.”

“Fair enough,” he said, and held out his hand again. She took it and they smiled at each other across their handshake. It was 2:34.

_+_

The rest of the day was easy. They skirted around each other with knowing smiles and pretended nothing was different. William woke from his nap; they took a walk outside, had dinner, read quietly, then put the kid to bed. By eight o’clock, they were perched in uncharacteristically distant positions on the couch: baseball in the background, file folders and work across the coffee table.

“Mulder, take a look at this.” She passed him a case-file photo and he grimaced.

“Ach, Jesus, Scully what the hell is that?”

“Look at the shape of this hematoma. What does that look like to you?” She traced its outline with her pinky finger while he tried to hold down his dinner.

“Are you serious? It looks like—oh. Wait, I think I see…” his eyes went wide. “Scully, is that a little devil face?”

She licked her lips and bit them together to keep from smiling. “Mulder, what do you know about Dover, Massachusetts?”

His eyes went wider still and his mouth hung open. “Be still my heart, Scully, you’re working on the Dover Demon?”

“No. I’m not. I’m doing an autopsy on a murder victim.”

“Of someone killed by the Dover Demon?”

“Mulder, the Dover Demon never killed anyone. It was probably just a lost foal that a couple of kids spotted in a field. Twenty-five years ago.”

“Or it was an alien.”

Her bottom lip protruded, and she was giving him that look.

“Scully, I am so fucking turned on right now.”

She couldn’t help it; she raked her eyes over him. “Really?”

He tossed the photo back into its file and almost reached for her when he remembered their bet. He leaned forward instead, keeping his hands a careful few inches from her body, and whispered so close to her ear that his lips nearly touched her skin. “Really.”

Scully’s chest rose and fell heavily. His breath on her neck raised goosebumps all the way down to her fingertips. Her nipples tightened against the front of her t-shirt. “What if I said that maybe it was an alien? Maybe this is some kind of… hot spot.” Her voice was a little higher than usual, a little rough. Mulder made a humming sound in the back of his throat and leaned even closer. The back of his hand brushed her thigh in a way that could have been accidental but probably wasn’t.

“I’d say who are you and what have you done with my wife?”

She arched her body toward him, just slightly, and the impulse to grab her and pull her against him was overwhelming. His eyes slid over her, caught on the hardened peaks of her nipples outlined by her tight t-shirt. “How would you know it’s me?” she asked.

“Hmm, I guess I’d have to check you over for identifying marks.” He reached out a single finger to the hem of her shirt, but did not let it slip under.

“Oh yeah?” Now she turned to whisper into his ear, hot breath along his neck, so very close that he could smell her lotion. “Tough.”

Mulder’s mouth fell open, then his head fell back against the couch and he laughed.

“I had you,” she was smiling, but he recognized the telltale flush above the neck of her shirt.

He let her know that he saw. “Scully, I’m pretty sure I had you too.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she moved to pick up her case notes. “I’m gonna go type these up.”

Mulder only nodded, a knowing smirk on his face.

_+_

Sunday was more difficult, less playful. They’d bumped arms a few times in the night, but Mulder had grown accustomed to being the big spoon and missed the feeling of her ass pressed up against his hips, its occasional slow grind as she arched her back toward pleasure in her sleep. Scully missed the way his hand would slip under her pajama top to hold one of her breasts, even as he snored behind her. These were not passionate or lustful touches, but nightly comforts that created a low-level thrum of arousal over their bed and made sleep that much sweeter. To lie beside each other without them seemed an unnecessary cruelty, and both awakened, already grumpy, to the sound of “Mamaaa. Daddeeee,” from the next room at a too-early hour.

“Should we bring him in here, see if he goes back to sleep?” Mulder asked.

“Hmmugh, yeah, I guess.”

A few minutes later, William was trying his best to relax between them, but his tiny body flailed and tossed and turned every few seconds. His head would rest on Mulder’s shoulder, then on Scully’s, then she would feel the slap of his hand against her upper arm. She rolled to look at him, glanced his chubby cheek with her index finger.

“Hi, baby,” she said.

“Hi Mama.” He was smiling, his brown hair in a loose fluff over his forehead. “I hungry.” And that was the end of their rest.

Over the course of the day, a slow, frustrated tension built between Mulder and Scully. His hand would come, unthinking, to the small of her back as they passed in the kitchen reaching for a glass of water or a box of crackers. She would lean into it, hungry for his hands, and then, remembering, force herself away. The stretched collar of his t-shirt dipped to reveal a smooth collarbone, and Scully found herself bending over to kiss it before she realized what she was doing and straightened back with a frown. He noticed.

“Tomorrow will be easier, Scully. We’ll be at work.”

She made a face and went back to fix a snack for William, who was doctoring a pair of stuffed toys with a plastic stethoscope. “I hope so.”

_+_

Monday was, indeed, easier. They hurried through their morning routine, dropping William with the babysitter and riding together, since they were both at Quantico today: Mulder consulting, Scully doing her usual slicing and dicing. They had lunch together and found that the playfulness had returned as an easy flirtatiousness that reminded her of the later years of their partnership.

“Oh, hi there,” Mulder said as he approached the lunch counter where she sat.

“Hi, yourself.”

“Nice sweater.”

She looked down at the simple black v-neck. “Mulder, you saw it this morning.”

He just shrugged and took the seat beside her. “What’s on the menu?”

“Everything but me,” she said with a wry smile.

“Oooh, ouch.” He leaned in and said into her ear, “So I guess you don’t want to slip into the restroom with me for a quick minute?” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Mulder.” The look again, which broke into a smile at the end. “Ask me again next week.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

She shoved his shoulder gently. “Order your sandwich, Mulder.”

“Careful, Scully,” he said, taking hold of her knee beneath the table. “Touching leads to naughtiness.”

“Hey, hey! No under-clothes touching. You’re cheating.” His fingertips were brushing over her bare kneecap, sending little zaps of electricity all over her body. Despite her complaint, she didn’t move his hand away. It slipped a bit higher up her leg.

“Not my fault you wear such short skirts.” His breath was back in her ear, and she found herself ready to take him up on that bathroom offer, damn him. She was saved, however, by the approaching waitress.

_+_

Tuesday was awful. They had to go in separately and Scully had to stay late for a third autopsy. By the time Mulder saw the lights of her car pulling up the long driveway, dinner was put away and William was already asleep. She entered with slumped shoulders and immediately kicked off her shoes, dropped her jacket across a chair, and flopped onto the couch.

“Rough day?” Mulder came in, wiping his hands on a dishtowel.

Scully just nodded her head without looking up. Her brows were furrowed and there was a faraway look in her eyes. “William asleep?”

“Yeah. He missed you.”

“Sorry.”

Mulder sat beside her on the couch and took her hand. “Tell me.”

“I, ah… was called in for a third autopsy.”

“On the Dover Demon thing?”

She shook her head. “No.” There was a pause while she collected herself, and Mulder squeezed her hand. “Different case. The victim was eight.”

Scully looked up, then, and saw his face fall, heard his sharp intake of breath. “Oh Jesus, Scully, I’m so sorry.” He tugged her toward him. “Come here.” He palmed her shoulder and tucked her into his arms. She went easily, crumpling against his chest and wrapping her arms around his middle. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked against her hair.

She shook her head and breathed in deeply the smell of him: his soap and deodorant, the laundry powder in his sweater, and the subtler trace of his sweat and skin beneath.

“Hungry? I made that broccoli mac and cheese stuff.”

“Mmm, God yeah. I’m starving.”

He fed her and dragged her up to bed. Under the covers, in only a nightshirt and underwear, she curled up against him. Despite the bet, her face nuzzled the center of his chest and her right hand went to his hip, to the hem of his boxers.

“Mulder.”

“Yeah,” he said into her hair.

“I don’t wanna play this game anymore.” Her lips pressed against his skin. Her fingers dipped below the waistband.

“Okay,” he said. He brushed her hair back from her face, tilted it up toward his own and looked into her eyes.

“You win, Mulder. You’re right. I can’t wait a week.” There was desire in her eyes, but also sadness, a need for comfort. She tilted her lips up to his and kissed him, let her whole hand slide into his boxers. “Will you love me?”

He angled his body upright so he could cup her cheeks with both hands. “Oh, Scully,” he said and kissed her, kissed her again, then one more time. “Always.”

He rolled her onto her back in the dark, slid her nightshirt up up and over her head until her breasts were bared before him and her eyes shone in the moonlight that filtered through their windows. He kissed. He tasted. He hardened her pink nipples to peaks with his tongue and could feel the goosebumps rise on her back beneath his fingertips. His thumbs found her hipbones, his long fingers the curve of her bottom. He tugged down on damp satin until she was utterly bare before him.

“Three days was enough, Scully.” His tongue dipped into her navel. He kissed below it, where fine, silver-threaded stretch-marks ornamented the slight mound of flesh. He moved lower. “You win, too,” he murmured against her sex. He traced its outline with his tongue, teased her opening until she moaned and arched and spread her legs wider. He gave her what she wanted: his full attention, his fingers, his tongue. She was flushed and full and arching, and then pulling at his shoulders.

“Mmm, please,” she whimpered. “I want you inside me. Please please.” She tugged at him, arching and writhing to get him to her sooner. He pulled his boxers off in one motion and drew the tip of his shaft up and down through the wet heat where his mouth had just been. She gripped him, felt the full, smooth weight of him and moaned. “Yes.”

Their eyes locked. His nose touched hers and rubbed gently. She smiled.

With legs wrapped firmly around his hips, she guided him into her. She sighed, his face in her hands, the weight of the day slipping quietly into the past. Her present was here. Her future was here. “I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you,” he said. And he rocked into her with the gentle force of all his love.

_+_

In the morning, she woke with his hand on her breast. Her ass was pressed up against the slight swell of him and his every breath blew strands of her hair with a little puff. She rocked her hips back and felt his sleepy thrust in response, a tightening of his palm over her nipple. She rolled so they were face-to-face and scraped the nails of one hand along his slightly sweaty scalp.

“G’morning,” she murmured.

His eyes blinked open. He placed a small kiss on her forehead. “Morning.”

They were naked in the brightening dawn, cloaked in only a top sheet and already humming with faint arousal. She hooked her right leg over his hip. He tugged her waist so she was flush against him. She nuzzled the warm spot beneath his ear, let her tongue flick against the salty skin.

And then: “ _Mamaaaaa_ ,” from the adjacent room.

Scully laughed into Mulder’s lips and tried to pull away, but he held her to him. “Uh uh.”

“Mulder.”

_“Mamaaaa. Daddeeee.”_

He groaned.

“That one was for you,” she said.

He bit her shoulder, licked it better. “I’m in no condition to pick up a toddler.”

She kissed him again. “Fair point.” She sat up and searched for her nightshirt.

“Hey, Scully,” he said. She raised her eyebrows in response before tugging the shirt over her head. “No more bets. We’ve had enough obstacles in this life keeping us apart.”

She smiled, nodded, and went to get their son.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the tumblr XF Porn Battle, June 2018. Prompt #132: Mulder and Scully make a sexual bet--no sex, kissing, or touching for a week. Scully loses.


End file.
